“Did she now,” he said with a slow tongue. “Dimmi.”Tell me.
“She warned me that you were known to break hearts—as a habit. Guard my heart, was what she had said to me.”
“You still came at me, going over a hundred miles per hour.”
I bit my lip, smiling a bit, shaking my head. “You were always so cool and calm on the outside, but I knew what lived inside. I was drawn to it.” I brought my lips achingly close to his. “You love the thrill of the hunt. I love being hunted.”
He stared at my lips. I could feel his want as well as I could feel the oppressive heat.
My fingers trembled over hard muscle and prominent bone as I explored every inch of his smooth, damp skin. I bit his neck and he groaned.
“I thought,” I breathed out, letting my breath fan over his skin, “I thought to myself,Scarlett.” Leaning in closer, I placed my mouth next to his ear, my nipples barely grazing his chest, sending delicious shivers over me. “You havegotto get you some of whatever he’s got.”
He went still. Then he erupted into laughter so deep that his chest trembled with its intensity. His large hands slid to my waist, caressing the concavity of my stomach, even further down, to the sway of my hips, holding on.
My thighs clenched. The sound did something to me—a reminder of what he could do.
“Look at me,mio marito.” No, it wasn’t an order. It was a plea. “Please.”
His laughter made his face seem younger, in such wild contrast with his eyes. He was glued to me, hanging on to my every word, like I was telling him the most wonderful bedtime story.
My lips made love to his skin, my mouth whispering every secret word, the conviction behind them going even deeper.
You have a beautiful soul.
You are mine.
Your heart speaks to mine in a language only it understands.
You are such a good man.
He started to resist, moving against me. “Scarlett.” His voice held a familiar tone—a warning and a plea. Almost strangled.
“No.” I shook my head, prepared for him to pin me when the love became too much for him to bear.
He was uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to hearing things that every loved soul deserves to hear.
“I’m your wife, Brando. I'm allowed to tell you how I feel. Sometimes a woman has to say these things or else she might go a bit crazy, you know? It’s the overflow. And you're not allowed to feel guilty about it. It’s justus.”
There was a clear and definite line between what Brando considered a woman and a man. One way to appeal to this belief was to explain that it was my duty as his wife to speak to the man in him. Whether he accepted this or not…?
He watched me for a minute or two before he gave a subtle nod, moving a piece of sweat-drenched hair from my face. He placed such a chaste kiss on my lips that it left tingles behind. He rested his head against the seat, closed his eyes, and allowed me take him inside my love.
* * *
One eye popped open to a bright, impossibly hot day. The other eye felt stuck and refused to budge.
“Wake up, baby.”
“Ugh?” I finally willed the other eye to join its mate, blinking the sleep away so consciousness could flood in.
We were still in Mitch’s truck. Brando was pressed against the driver’s side door, me up against him. I wore his shirt and nothing else. I looked over my arms and bare legs, searching for a variety of bug bites.
Brando laughed, the sound rough with lack of sleep. He plucked at a mosquito-shaped air freshener hanging from Mitch’s mirror. “It’s a repellent. Mitch sleeps in this truck almost every weekend when he’s off. He got sick of all the bites. Said he was investing in his health so he wouldn’t get West Nile.”
We both laughed. Whatever Mitch was or wasn’t, you could always count on him to be the entertainment.
“Oh,” I said, wiping my eyes. “What a trip.”
